Infinity
by Feather
Summary: Here is an imagined conversation between Harry and Hermione that would not leave my thoughts alone until I wrote it out, blasted idea -_-; ~ Feather =^^=


Title- Infinity

Category-Harry Potter

Genre-Angst/Fluff [?]

Rating- G/PG

Author's notes-I've had this scene run through my mind several times now, so I decided to write it out without actually having to create a fanfic in the process, but, alas, things never seem to turn out the way I intend them too. Please excuse this sorry little piece I never meant to show the world, as this is one of the few stories that I actually wrote before I came up with a title, and I'm sorry if this is not quite up to standard; then again, I have no standard for excellent quality, but I suppose this could be a formidable piece. ::shrugs:: Have a lovely day! ~ Love, Feather =^^=

*

The night had settled into every crevice of the common room, filling it with an indescribable feeling of peace, the worries of the day just small creases in the sheer beautiful relaxation. Firelight lit the room, creating long shadows, and the crimson fabrics and dark mahogany woods of the furniture and tapestries created a slight feel of dusty mystery, some slight intrigue that drastically freshened the tired looking sofas and dark drab woods. The light, however, remained soft and thin, not containing the sharp potency of a bitter winter night's fire; the promise of spring was affecting the overall mood of the common room, and even the very stone walls seemed to perceive the change in season, changing to accommodate the need for cool air after a long day of classes. Only the crackling of the fire could be heard, the scratch of a quill, as two sixth-year Gryffindors sat in silence, letting the feelings brief tranquility wash over them as long as possible.

Hermione set down her quill, looking over her long History of Magic essay, admiring the glimmer the firelight created as it caught the freshly inked words for a moment. Pushing her bushy hair out of her face and exhaling slowly, she let her elbows fall onto the table, and let her gaze wander to the boy, young man, really, sitting next to her. Easing her limbs out from under her, stretching with the smooth languid motions of a cat, she released all the tension from her muscles and hesitantly looked at Harry. His eyes were cast with a fierce determination, a look one could rarely see off the Quiddich field, and his messy raven locks had spilled onto his forehead. She almost laughed at the image he created, the look of a studious youth; she could spin unbelievable tales from the exploits of Harry and Ron.

She bit her lip and looked back down at her essay, checking once more to make sure that she had included everything she had wanted. The small, neat print never strayed from the straight line that she had determined after writing the first sentence; all too predictable. _I wonder_, she thought, slightly amused, _what would happen if I ever turned in a half-finished piece of homework_. Unable to keep herself from showing her amusement, her senses befuddled from the late hour and the affect of the firelight, she let out a small noise resembling some sort of laughter, a brief break in the silent tranquility. She quickly shut her eyes, frightfully embarrassed.

Slowly, Harry drew his gaze up from his paper, and then straightened his body, concentrating entirely on Hermione. Sensing his sudden activity, Hermione open her eyes to look at him, a look caught between amusement and guilt playing throughout her features. She opened her mouth to say something, anything to defend herself, but Harry shook his head, and began to promptly chuckle quietly to himself. "What is it?" she asked in an exasperated tone, though a smile contradicted the frenzy of her syllables.

His laughter slowed, and he looked at her, amused as well, though his steady gaze never left her face. "It's amazing," he said, his tone bemused and quavering with suppressed laughter, "that no matter how long you know a person, reach into their mind, they still never fail to surprise you."

Sighing, she looked down at her paper, pausing for a moment before choosing to respond. "And that would pertain to our conversation how?" she asked, her tone concise but also containing the quality of laughter, and something else, maybe a seriousness and response to the utter truth that she was too afraid to show.

"I've known you for ages, Hermione, but I've never seen you so…amused. It's not a bad thing, even though you have a serious lack of a life if you laugh just because I do, but you _never_ laugh, _ever_ at all when your studying, and here you are, laughing almost as badly as a drunken fool might." Harry smiled slightly, and continued. "It's nice to see you laugh once in a while, Hermione…I'm glad, I suppose."

She exhaled deeply again, and started to speak in a serious tone. "You know I take my studies seriously, Harry, even if you and Ron don't. I want to be successful, make something of myself, I suppose, because I feel I have such a great potential that if I don't use it I'll be a failure to myself, to you, or something like that. I don't know, I don't want to ramble to you…I really never have, I hope, and now probably isn't a good time to start for me to pour out my heartfelt confessions. Besides, Ron would hurt both of us if he missed out on any little detail of my life."

Harry nodded, though still smiled. "Yes, yes I know," he said, in a quiet, unearthly calm tone, pertaining no traces of emotion at all.

A silence fell between the two for an awkward moment, lasting from anywhere to a few seconds to an eternity. Though she could sense something was changing in that very moment, Hermione could not grasp the revelations she felt, her mind speeding past too quickly, her thoughts running through her finger in a cool stream of icy water, stinging yet refreshing, everything changing all at once. Time didn't pass normally at all when Harry was around her, she silently determined, still in a bemused, slightly listless way, and though it wasn't a bad thing, she had no idea if anything would ever again be the same. She giggled slightly. "Now you're becoming too morbid, Harry! I just got carried away is all!"

He snorted, then drastically changed his face to one of mock horror and surprise. Pointing one long, thin finger to behind her, he furrowed his brow and whispered, "Hermione…there' s a Grim." Both of them burst into hysterical fits of laughter, at the memory of their first Divination classes, at the sheer thought of remembering; they relished fully in the company of the other, and all felt felicitous for a time.

Subconsciously, she spoke: "Isn't it funny what we think sometimes, Harry? About things we thought we had forgotten?"

"What are you talking about, Hermione? Are you remembering something about me, is that why you're blushing?" Harry's tone was teasing and pitched in a different voice, and it took Hermione a moment to realize that it was the tone Malfoy used when he was teasing a person about his or her relationship. 

She blushed even more, but shook her head slightly. She abruptly changed the subject, hoping to diverge his train of thought from what was, indeed, the truth. "Do you know what else is funny, Harry?"

"The thought of Malfoy going to the Yule ball wearing lacy dress robes and having pink hair?" he suggested mildly, leaning back into his chair and propping his feet up on the table. Swatting his feet off her Arithmancy paper, she shook her head.

"That would be quite amusing, but as much as I would love to scheme with you, I was thinking of something else. What is so funny, or interesting, rather, is how you can be such a celebrity and not take any notice to it, and all the girls that fawn over you. How did you survive, Mr. Potter, and why – so girls could follow you around and start a fan-club?" Smiling triumphantly, she silently dared him to parry her point with the same humor that he had used earlier when he had been teasing her.

He sobered quickly, and Hermione knew him well enough to knew that the words he would speak would be genuine. "I know you'll laugh at me, Hermione. But…I think that it's fate that's brought me here, and that's why I've survived. How I survived, the hands of fate have given me this time, and I have to do something and make something of it. And for why…maybe it's so I can pay the debt that my mother paid: that I can love someone enough to surrender my life up for him or her, so that I _can_ love someone that much. Or…something…" His eyes lowered, but he had straightened while he had spoken, and he been edging towards the edge of his chair.

Inhaling and biting her lip, Hermione nodded, her mind caught between utter euphoria and despair. She nodded, and, she, too, edged to the edge of her chair, one thin hand reaching out to gently touch his chin and gently pull it up so that he could see her nod. "I believe you, Harry," she breathed softly, her mind in another universe as she bent closer to his face, lips parting, and grew steadily more intoxicated with the sheer madness and blissful chaos that threatened to tear apart her orderly mind and heart. His eyes filled with a strange emotion that she had never seen, a mixture of relief, need, and calmness, alien emotions in painfully beautiful world that she supposed, in her last conscious thoughts before she completely lost all sense of reality, was pure desire and love.

Time seemed to pass more heavily and slow with each passing second, an infinity of pure chaotic dream of desire and need and want and love and pain and beauty, the complex series of emotions too muddled in her mind to sort out anything distinctly, and the echo of her heart filled her mind as her face came to be only a fraction of an inch from his. And a clock sounded, startling her into a reality, ringing once, twice, twelve times, twelve painful reminders that her revelations had occurred, and nothing could ever be the same.

"It's late," she whispered, drawing her self up with a fragile grace, conscious of every movement she made. She picked up her papers, smiling slightly though not looking at Harry, and started towards the stairs. Turning around just before she opened the door to her room, she whispered, "Good night," letting the firelight and tranquility whisper her words to Harry and impress them on his heart.

Smiling crookedly, he nodded to himself and began to gather his papers as well. "What a good night it has been, indeed."

*

Closing notes/Disclaimer-I do not claim to own Harry Potter or any related works. I do, however, own the pathetic little piece that is represented above, though all resemblance to other stories is purely chance; as far as I know, this is an original idea, though it's not much of one. Have a lovely day! ~ Feather =^^=


End file.
